


Absence Makes The Heart Grow Fonder...And Other Things

by AndreaLyn



Category: King Arthur (2004)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 08:56:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2263629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Galahad returns from two years of training and he's grown up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Absence Makes The Heart Grow Fonder...And Other Things

The parchment felt old beneath his fingertips, an impossible feat surely, for Galahad must have written this mere weeks ago. The ink looked fresh and the words detailed recent events, quiet jokes, and a certain style that only Galahad could instill. “Hope you haven’t missed me too much,” it read. “Learned lots. I can beat you in a fight now. Ought to be back soon. I miss Vanora’s ale and looking down her dress.” Gawain chuckled at that. “Miss talking to the others. How many dead? Don’t answer. I’ll be back soon enough to tell.”  
  
Those last few words were so optimistic and full of good news that Gawain had been walking around brimming with enthusiasm the whole day. He grinned at anyone who would bother looking his way and to those who wouldn’t, Gawain would grab their attention long enough to announce, “He’s coming back!” and walk away.  
  
Gawain had missed his best friend  _fiercely_. Not two years ago, the fortress had suffered a brutal attack from the Woads; they had taken the lives of three of Arthur’s best knights. Many weeks went by and the decision was passed that some of the younger knights – Galahad, Percival, and Gaheris – be sent to various other garrisons for training and protection. That had been two years ago when Galahad had been fourteen and still too thin and small to be a true threat upon the battlefield; clumsy with a weapon and clumsier still with his bow.   
  
Now, two years had gone by; more than enough time for Galahad to learn the proper skills and techniques it took to make a boy into a knight.  
  
Gawain wondered just when the letters had been sent off and if the boys were due to arrive soon. It had been too long since Gawain had last seen Galahad. Since the last time, Gawain had gone through many changes – from boyhood to becoming a man – and had learned of the intricacies of bedding a woman. Gawain had been disappointed with his first, a fact the girl was none too happy to hear. He had learned new battle techniques, used new weapons, killed more people, learned new things. And finally,  _finally_ , he was going to get to do all these things with his best friend by his side.   
  
He wondered if Galahad had finally hit a growth spurt. He had always complained viciously of his lack of height. Thin as he was, height would probably look rather ill on his frame. Perhaps he’d finally grown a beard to mask the femininity of his features; features that earned him endless teasing when he was younger. Gawain felt sorry for Galahad. He was blessed and cursed with that face of his. The girls adored him and the boys teased him for it. Gawain had taken pity on him when he was young because Galahad had reminded him of his little brother – taken from them too early, far too early. It had been nearly two years now, though, and Galahad could have matured into a manlier visage.   
  
Gawain turned into the corridors, navigating his way to the round table. “Arthur,” he greeted their commander happily, smiling to counter Arthur’s grim expression – studying a pile of boring looking maps. “Have you seen the post?”  
  
“Yes,” Arthur remarked, distracted. “I see the others are returning. One hopes the Romans have done well training them.”  
  
Gawain did not envy Galahad’s situation for many reasons. Chief among them being that they were in villages not primarily used for residence, but mainly as outposts. Therefore, there were few girls to see and sleep with – not that Gawain was sleeping with many girls in their own fortress, always too busy with sentry duty and training to bother wooing anyone – and there were even fewer people to hold down decent conversation who weren’t Roman. And the other primary reason that Gawain did not envy Galahad was that he was being trained by a legion of  _Romans_.  
  
“Do you think they’ll be safe now?” Gawain wondered, wandering over to help Arthur roll up the maps and the papers properly without causing too much of a mess. “It’s been so long, I can hardly see why the threat would remain.”  
  
“I’m sure they’ll be quite safe,” Arthur nodded, taking the maps Gawain had rolled.   
  
Gawain fidgeted slightly, pacing about the table on his way to the exit. “How long would you say until they returned?” His attempt at being quite casual fell through, but he was allowed to be anxious. It was trying to always rely on Tristan or Lancelot – or the gods forbid, trying to squeeze conversation out of Dag – for someone to talk to. Galahad could be a pain and a bother, but he was always a source of conversation, even if you had to feed him an ale or two to get him talking.   
  
“Soon, Gawain,” Arthur replied with an amused chuckle. “He’ll be back soon.”  
  
Gawain laughed, feeling a bit ashamed of appearing so eager, and scratched the side of his face slightly. “I should be more patient,” he admitted.  
  
“I’m sure it won’t be more than a few days,” Arthur assured. “Until then, you ought to prepare your quarters. You’ll have to take Galahad back into your living space, unfortunately. We’ve a lack of free space.”  
  
Gawain nodded swiftly. “It’s all right. We’ve lived like that before. We’ll be fine.” Gawain laughed. “I’ll simply have to adjust to his damned snoring again.” With that, Gawain nodded his respect to Arthur and made his way back to his quarters, ready to begin preparations, ready to clean up after the passing of a different time in his life, ready for Galahad to return to him.  
  
*  
  
Gawain walked in on a round of bets at the tavern some nights later. He slid into his usual seat and didn’t even say a word; he merely arched one curious eyebrow. From the look of the pile of coins, this was beginning to be a large bet. Usually, Gawain was told beforehand what the event was, but Gawain couldn’t even begin to fathom what this coin was for. Then again, he’d been distracted as of late.  
  
“Percival, Gaheris, and Galahad,” Tristan spoke up finally. “Which one’s grown the most, which one’s the most skilled, and which one’s going to attract the most women.”  
  
Gawain laughed, amused and he dug out a few coins. “Galahad’s grown the most. It has to be him. He was nothing before. Percival was already tall and Gaheris was far bigger than Galahad. Galahad was tiny.” He flipped the coin onto the table. “Anyone else bet Galahad?”  
  
Tristan nodded. “Bedivere, Dagonet, and myself.”  
  
Gawain shared a knowing grin with those knights as he set about contemplating the second part. “Most skilled…” he mused. “Percival was already skilled when he left, and Gaheris had an amazing natural talent with a sword. Galahad was clumsy. I say Gaheris,” he nodded, confident as he pushed another coin forward. He turned to Tristan, curious. “Who did you pick?”  
  
Tristan bit into his apple, kicking back casually, propping his legs up on the table. “Galahad.”  
  
Gawain frowned. “For skill in battle?”  
  
Tristan just shrugged and smirk that all-knowing smile. “I have my sources.”  
  
“Wait a minute,” Gawain froze, groaning and turning to Tristan. There was knowledge in that smile that spoke of more than just hearing about it. Gawain suddenly remembered scouting missions and Tristan departing for months, only to return with…with the post. “You’ve seen them all. You’re the one who goes to check on them, you’ve seen them!” he accused and received one simple nod in reply. Gawain groaned. “Is it too late to change my bet?”  
  
“Yes,” Lancelot snapped. “We all suffered from Tristan’s knowledge, you will too. Last bet, come on.”  
  
“Going to attract the most women…” Gawain scoffed. “That’s simple. Percival. He’s as tall as Arthur with hair as fair as mine, but his behaves. I always envied those little perfect waves of hair. Didn’t even have to fix his hair when he’d awoken. With a few years to grow into himself, he’ll be fighting the girls off.”  
  
He was sure of that. He handed his last coin to Lancelot, who tossed it in the third pile while Dagonet scribbled something on the piece of parchment he’d kept. “Whose idea were these particular bets anyhow?” he asked aloud, counting up the currency in his head and trying to tally it.  
  
Gawain shouldn’t have been surprised by the answer. “Mine,” Tristan said, a large grin on his face as he polished the apple until there was nothing but a core of what there had been to begin with.   
  
“I should have known,” he muttered, shaking his head. Wherever there was mischief, usually Tristan had some silent part in it – and sometimes, there was no way to even prove that Tristan had a hand in it. Blind belief was all there was. Gawain froze as he realized that there was one question left unanswered. “Wait,” he interrupted the new conversation, turning to Tristan. “Who did you say for the last question? Who do you think will attract the most women?”  
  
Tristan gave an easy shrug, relaxing more. “That one was easy,” he commented, his voice warmer than Gawain had heard it in weeks.   
  
“Right,” Gawain laughed, shaking his head, wondering why he would even doubt that Tristan had chosen Percival, just like the rest of them.  
  
Tristan tossed the core to the ground to let the birds and the strays have it. “I chose Galahad.” Gawain coughed on the ale he was sipping, his gaze snapping back to Tristan. No one would choose Galahad for that. He was thin and lanky and small, more feminine than some of the girls themselves. “It was simple.”  
  
“What’s changed since he’s been gone?” Gawain asked suspiciously. “Has he grown?”  
  
“You’ll find out for yourself. They arrive tomorrow,” Tristan smirked, clapping Gawain on the back as he stood, whistling for his hawk. She descended gracefully, squawking loudly as if a greeting to the others. “I’ll be back to collect my money after the first training session and the first night in the tavern.”  
  
Gawain watched Tristan go, the lingering suspicion never truly leaving him. He wondered just what Tristan had seen during one of his circuits to the villages while he was picking up post and ensuring the safety of their three youngest.   
  
“Come,” Bors grunted. “No more talk of the pups. Let’s drink.”  
  
Gawain gave his agreement in the form of a small noise, still watching Tristan exit the tavern, chatting idly by the exit with one of the wenches. He wouldn’t have to wait long to find out if Tristan was just putting them on. Just a day. Then he would know firsthand if Galahad really had become all those things.   
  
And if he had…  
  
While Gawain had slept with exactly one girl while Galahad had been away – and the results were too disastrous for him to immediately mount the horse again, so to speak – he had also wound up with one of the other knight’s in the stables. Neither of them would ever speak of it, and Gawain wouldn’t even name names. It happened once and then it was over. The consequence of the coupling, however, had left lingering doubts in Gawain’s mind that perhaps he had never wanted a girl in his bed to begin with. He didn’t mind them so much and if he found himself in love with a lass, he would bed her, surely. But Gawain thought the exact same of the lads. It must have been the fault of this damned country and being away from home and his family, that was all. When it was all over, he would go back and wed a woman, taking a beautiful Sarmatian wife and starting his own family. That was what he repeated to himself whenever he had doubt.  
  
And it wasn’t as though he’d found any man who could fill that role.  
  
His beautiful Sarmatian wife would do that.   
  
She was waiting for him somewhere. And he would find her someday. He would spend the rest of his free life with the Sarmatian beauty he’ll love the most.  
  
*  
  
The pounding on Gawain’s door awoke him early the next morning – earlier than he had expected. It seemed that the younger Knights were arriving with the dawn of the sun. “Gawain, they’re just on the horizon,” Tristan’s voice was muffled by the thick walls, but the words were as clear as ever. “If you don’t get ready, you’re going to miss it and miss losing the bet to me.”  
  
Gawain grumbled, rubbing at his eyes. A part of him wanted to make sure he looked decent for the arrival, so he grabbed some of his best clothing, made sure his hair was sufficiently patted down, and attached his sword by the scabbard to his hip. With that done, he was ready.   
  
He drew open the door to find Tristan waiting, a smirk on his face, always watching, always knowing. “Ready?” Tristan inquired.  
  
“As the morning of battle,” Gawain nodded. “Let’s go.”  
  
Tristan led the way with no more than a nod and an even set to his face. There was already a group assembled in the courtyard, watching the large door and waiting. The Knights, some of the villagers, assorted Romans, and some of the children stood in wait. Gawain pushed to the front, standing with Tristan at his side as they kept their eyes forward, waiting impatiently for the caravan of horses and wagons to arrive. Gawain crossed his arms, biting anxiously on his lip as the gates drew open slowly.   
  
“Calm down,” Tristan instructed. “You’re twitching like a nervous Woad.”  
  
“I’m nervous,” Gawain snapped. “I haven’t seen my best friend in two years. That makes you nervous!”  
  
“I’ll take your word for it,” Tristan laughed, noting that the gates were fully drawn open and the horses were arriving. “There’s Gaheris,” he noted, wrinkling his nose. “He’s bearing resemblance to Lancelot.”  
  
“Just his hair,” Gawain shrugged. “The rest of him is taking after Dag, looks like. Quite muscled. But he didn’t grow. He’s the same. Looks about average, won’t have the women falling over him.”  
  
Tristan cast him a sidelong glance. “Going to evaluate them all?”  
  
Gawain just smirked. “And the way he’s riding, he hasn’t improved that much.” Gawain lifted his hand to greet Gaheris. “Look who’s come riding back!” he called out. “How are the Romans?”  
  
“Boring,” Gaheris commented as he rode past Gawain. “I’m glad to be back. There’s only so much of a ride I can take listening to Galahad.”  
  
Gawain snorted. “It’s good to see he hasn’t changed.”  
  
They watched silently, another row of wagons and supplies arriving. There looked to be furs and other beddings in there and Gawain could already imagine the feel of them during the damp winter. Their old sheets were growing useless and ratty, no more than the thinnest of layers to warm him at night. Some time later, the next stallion rode up, black as Lancelot’s, but as well-behaved as Tristan’s.  
  
“Percival,” Gawain commented in wonder. His hair was glowing brilliantly in the sun and his face was fair – though, with age, he had grown somewhat more awkward and his complexion was scattered with red marks. Gawain turned to Tristan. “Is that why you said Galahad for the third? Percival’s poor face and Gaheris’ tendency to look like Dag and Lancelot combined? The best of all possible choices,” Gawain grunted.  
  
Tristan didn’t answer.   
  
Percival had grown as well. He was a little bit taller and had kept his lanky form. Gawain nodded as he rode past. He and Percival had never quite gotten on. Gawain found him far too immature and self-centred with no endearing qualities to make up for the flaws – as opposed to Galahad and his shining moments that could brighten Gawain’s whole week. Tristan waved as he rode past without a single word of greeting.   
  
That meant one more. Gawain fidgeted a little more, shifting a bit as he eagerly tried to see past the rest of the caravans to find Galahad. But then…then the last of the caravans passed and there were only a few Romans discussing something with a few other men on horseback that weren’t in Roman clothes.  
  
“Where’s Galahad?” Gawain frowned. “Did he not come back with the rest of…”  
  
“Gawain!”   
  
Gawain turned back, turning to the young man who had cried his name – in a deep, confident voice – to find the one in the middle of two Romans looking at him happily, clad in a tunic and eyes brimming with delight. Familiar eyes on an incredibly fair and handsome face, a light beard covering his cheeks and a tousled head of curls.   
  
“Galahad,” Gawain exhaled, still a little in shock. He would know that look, those eyes, that expression anywhere.  
  
Galahad had changed.   
  
He had grown up and it wasn’t awkward; in fact, it was becoming on him. Galahad immediately dismounted his horse, running up and immediately wrapping his arms around Gawain, hugging him tightly. “You have no idea how much I missed you lot. I hate the Romans,” he growled, voice still… _still_ …quite deep. And Gawain realized as he tilted his head up slightly that Galahad was  _taller_  than him. Gawain laughed, relief in his voice, amazed as he pulled away from Galahad nuzzling at his neck in the embrace to study him.   
  
“C’mon, stand back, let me see you,” he instructed. Galahad did as he was told and spun a little. “Gods, look at you!” he laughed with surprise and amazement.   
  
His thighs were muscled, his whole self was muscled, he was taller and lanky, but he had filled out enough so he couldn’t be called thin any longer. And he looked good. His face was mature, his hair as tousled as ever, and that smile on his face was enough to light up Gawain’s day.  
  
“I missed you too,” Gawain smiled, yanking Galahad back into his embrace. “You didn’t have any fun without me, now did you?”  
  
“How could…”  
  
Tristan cleared his throat. “Can the others greet him?”  
  
Gawain parted, smiling and slightly embarrassed by his reaction to seeing Galahad. He pulled away and shared a grin with Galahad. “We’ll have drinks later,” Gawain promised, wandering away to let the other Knights greet Galahad. Gawain walked backwards the last few steps of the way, studying Galahad with a scrutinous eye, amazed and almost a little worried with the way his stomach was tumbling, his blood was rushing lower, his head was clouding with a thousand thoughts, and all of which were in reaction of he wanted to do  _to_  Galahad.   
  
 _Sarmatian…beautiful…_  his mind parroted back at him.  
  
No.   
  
Gawain wasn’t going to think of Galahad like that. Not his best friend.   
  
He sighed, resolving to keep Galahad in only pure thoughts in his mind, leaving those other sorts of thoughts for the girls that Gawain would one day marry. Of course, Galahad could be allowed the occasional slip of a dirty thought. He was worth that much, at least. He smiled happily and waved once more as Galahad caught his gaze. He bit his lip and suppressed the thought of Galahad’s thighs in his grasp. He pushed that thought away and tried to focus mainly on that smile.  
  
Tristan had won at least two of the bets. Now, they were one training session away from Tristan completely winning the bet or walking away with nothing.   
  
*  
  
Gawain was eager for training; normally it was a chore and a thing to be avoided, but today, he was going to enjoy it because training meant the end of the bets, Tristan’s smugness – although, there wasn’t a surefire cure to the smugness. It could only be abated for a few moments before it raged back to the surface – and perhaps an end to Gawain’s odd fixation on Galahad, who had haunted his dreams the night after his arrival. Training would end this, Gawain knew. One of the downsides, however, was the fact that Gawain had a bad feeling that his newfound lust for Galahad would only be fuelled by seeing him fighting and sweating. Gawain would also find out whether Galahad’s clumsiness had been replaced by a more graceful nature or whether that had remained a core of Galahad’s being.   
  
Gawain rubbed his eyes as he entered the stables, still disliking the early hour that Arthur had decreed as their time for training. When he arrived, he found that he wasn’t the first, and of  _all_  the luck, it was Galahad training with Arthur.  
  
“Good,” Arthur grunted, in the midst of a complicated step that Gawain had just begun to learn, a step that Galahad seemed to be mastering quite quickly. “Good,” Arthur instructed, seemingly always in the midst of a dozen different things. “Careful,” he warned, his sword close to Galahad’s skin. Gawain could only watch, his attention rapt. “Good!” he murmured, the approval clear in both his voice and his face.   
  
“I learn quickly,” Galahad replied swiftly, finishing off the footwork and breathing heavily, sweating copiously. Arthur chuckled, clearly amused. “Break?”  
  
“Five minutes. The others will arrive soon,” Arthur agreed, heading over towards the stands and grasping a piece of cloth to wipe away the sweat.   
  
Galahad turned, smirking and licking his lower lip. “Someone already has,” he commented mischievously. “Gawain,” he greeted him, his voice obviously pleased – likely from his success with the move. Suddenly, Gawain realized that Tristan was going to win the bet. Galahad was practicing and perfecting moves that the older Knights were just learning. Damn Tristan and his penchant for knowing everything, anyhow. Galahad bent down to pick up a cloth, wiping at his forehead. “You enjoying the show?” he murmured aloud, voice hoarse and heavy with a low buzz, as though his voice was caught deep in his throat. It was strange. Galahad acted as though he hadn’t been away a day, as though nothing had changed at all.  
  
That couldn’t be further from the truth. Galahad had changed in many ways, both physically and in personality.   
  
“You’ve gotten good,” Gawain praised. “You’re also the reason I’m going to lose coin to Tristan.”  
  
“Did you bet against me?” Galahad teased. “Gawain,” he chastised, clucking his tongue. “Whyever would you do that to your best friend?” He laughed a little louder when Gawain cuffed him upside the head, sending him staggering forward slightly. “You’re so cruel to me,” he laughed, his eyes wide, almost in shock at the audacity of Gawain’s movements.  
  
“I could be crueler,” Gawain warned, the corners of his lips tugging up with a grin.   
  
Galahad got an absolutely devilish look on his face. “I’d like to see you try,” he whispered mischievously, biting his lip and raising one eyebrow.   
  
The word ‘tease’ was on the tip of Gawain’s tongue and he was so ready to utter it, but the other Knights were filing into the stables, engaged in loud conversation regarding one of the bar wenches. Galahad shared one last look with Gawain, a little more subdued than before, leaning in, almost like he was leaning in for a kiss. At the last moment, he stopped.   
  
“Train with me?” Galahad exhaled.   
  
Gawain fought past all the things his body and his brain were telling him and struggled to keep a straight face, despite the fact that he could feel Galahad’s breath wafting over his skin. This was a game. That was all. Galahad was flirting and Gawain could flirt back; it didn’t mean anything was going to happen. Galahad had always enjoyed pushing the limits. This was just a new one he had discovered. Gawain shook his head, scoffing.  
  
“Does that mean no?” Galahad pouted.  
  
Gawain laughed, shoving Galahad backwards slightly and grabbing his axe. “It’s a yes, but I’m marveling at your ability to have left for two years and not matured a single day.”  
  
Galahad only beamed at that, withdrawing his sword and stepping back, raising his eyebrows and spreading his arms open wide. “Come on, let’s see if you can get me,” he challenged. Gawain scoffed, ignoring the fact that they were surrounded by the other Knights and merely withdrew his sword, sticking his axe into the ground.   
  
“Is that it?” Gawain advanced, swinging his sword from side to side. “You want me, do you?”  
  
“Never anything else,” Galahad simpered, defending himself; the sound of clashing swords loud as they began their battle. Galahad grinned, almost feral in his attack, never slowing, never stopping as he attacked Gawain – grunting here and there, sweat slowly beading on his forehead, pouring down his cheeks. “Come on, Gawain,” he panted. “That can’t be all. Give me more,” he encouraged.   
  
“Cheeky little bastard,” Gawain commented in shock. He had become more of a tease than many of the tavern girls.  
  
They stepped forwards, backwards, around and around, dodging in and out of the other sparring sessions the Knights were using to train. Their swords clashed and clanged, making noises in such frenetic fast paced action that Gawain was almost unsure if he could maintain this speed.  
  
“Galahad,” Gawain breathed out, ragged. “You won’t win. I can do this for hours.”  
  
“Oh?” Galahad raised his eyebrows, gaze innocent. “Even if I…” and with no more warning than that, Galahad clashed swords with Gawain, making sure they were to the side before leaning in and very slowly, very  _evilly_  licking a path up Gawain’s neck, nibbling on his ear. Gawain stumbled backwards, dropping his sword and glaring at Galahad in shock. He seemed inordinately pleased with himself, standing there with perfect posture and holding Gawain at swordpoint. “Thought so!”  
  
“Galahad,” Gawain snarled. “You don’t just  _do_  that to win a fight!”  
  
“With you, yes,” Galahad countered, frustratingly smug. He leaned in a little more, biting on his lip. “Are you hard?” he whispered, hand reaching down to rest on Gawain’s crotch. “Oh, you are,” he exhaled, smiling softly. “I can take care of that.”  
  
“What in hell have you been doing for two years?” Gawain growled.  
  
Galahad’s face was overcome with indignation suddenly. “Missing you,” he spat out before turning and grasping the handle of his sword a little tighter, turning to battle physically with someone else, seemingly tired of the battle of words that he was currently fighting with Gawain.   
  
Gawain watched him go, trying to calm his body down, thinking of things to cool himself off. Arthur in the bedroom, Roman clergy, his parents conceiving him. Gawain shuddered slightly.  _That did the trick_. He leaned over to pick up his sword, making his way to stand on the sidelines with Lancelot, who was in the midst of taking a break, breathing hard. With the advent of Galahad’s sexual self, things looked to be getting difficult for all of them and more so for Gawain if that little show was any indication.  
  
“So…” Lancelot exhaled, clearing his throat, his breath still ragged. “You going…to bed him?”  
  
“He’s a tease and a flirt, Lancelot,” Gawain rolled his eyes. “I’m not taking a Knight to bed.”  
  
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” Lancelot scoffed. “The boy wants it. Look at him now. He isn’t regarding Tristan like that, not at all. He’s fighting properly.” Gawain indulged Lancelot’s request for a moment, glancing over to where Galahad was performing with technical accuracy and none of the moves he had used against Gawain – always keeping a few feet between him and Tristan as they sparred. There was also a distinctly displeased look on his face.  
  
“Maybe he learned his lesson,” Gawain countered evenly.  
  
Lancelot chuckled loudly. “Or maybe he just wants a tumble with you,” he said pointedly before re-engaging Arthur in a fight.   
  
Gawain sighed, rubbing his eyes, seeing Galahad turn, pouring water all over his head and shaking his hair, his curls frizzing a little more. He had promised Galahad drinks later on and Gawain wouldn’t back out on his promise even if Galahad seemed bent on pushing Gawain to the brink of sexual frustration. Gawain took a deep breath and forced himself to focus as Dag tapped him on the shoulder and handed Gawain his axe, smiling gently.   
  
“Come on,” Dag prodded. “Let’s have a round.”  
  
Gawain nodded, heading off and making sure his back was turned to Galahad before he began to take out his frustration in a healthy, normal way.   
  
*  
  
Gawain arrived late to the tavern that night. He had spent an extra long time preparing in his…no, not his… _their_  quarters – it hadn’t seemed a problem the first night when Galahad had done nothing more than collapse into his cot and fall asleep, murmuring soft words as he slept – before heading to the tavern.   
  
The first sight he was greeted with was Galahad in a liplock with one of the tavern wenches, quite distracted and quite active in their kissing, surging back and forth as she sat in his lap, moaning and making all other sorts of noises that would likely earn the girl a trip to Galahad’s bed. Gawain rolled his eyes, cuffing Galahad on the back of the head as he entered. ‘Lancelot was wrong, then,’ Gawain thought. It wasn’t that Galahad had Gawain on the mind. He just had sex on the mind.   
  
“Finally,” Galahad muttered, kissing the girl once more and whispering something into her ear, nipping at her neck before sending her off gently. He nearly leapt forward to fall into step beside Gawain.  
  
Gawain gave Galahad a wry smile. “Keeping the girls entertained are you?” he asked dryly.  
  
“Well,” Galahad wrapped one arm around Gawain’s waist. “Actually, she was keeping me warm until you arrived,” he confided, leaning in slightly, then tugging Gawain closer – stumbling over with Galahad’s grip, which was stronger than Gawain recalled. “You owe me a drink, remember?” he added cheerfully, relinquishing his grasp on Gawain and heading for the bar.   
  
Gawain took back what he’d previously thought. Maybe Galahad did have a specific goal in mind. “Galahad,” Gawain began, turning to Vanora and dazzling her with his best smile. “Two, please,” he asked. “Tell me, did you go through your maturing in that village?”  
  
“You mean, did I become a man?” Galahad replied mockingly.  
  
Gawain sighed. “You know what I mean.”  
  
“I did as much as you did,” Galahad said blithely, taking one of the mugs in hand. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Gawain. When I saw you waiting for me, I remembered how much I missed having you to talk to, I miss laughing about the Romans, missed training with you, gods, I missed having you there just to be there for me. And also, you really have grown quite well,” Galahad finished.  
  
“You didn’t turn out half bad yourself,” Gawain said lightly, trying to keep any emotion from his voice. He grabbed his mug of ale and followed Galahad to an empty table. “So, you didn’t like that girl?”  
  
“I did,” Galahad remarked, surprised. “I told her I’d take her to my quarters later. I hope you don’t mind if I bring her back. Maybe you can just wait here until I’m done?”  
  
Gawain reconsidered once more. So it was sex on the mind.  
  
“Or you could join, or watch,” Galahad kept on talking. “I really don’t mind either way.”   
  
Gawain was beginning to get tired of changing his mind so much. He gave a tired sigh and rubbed at his eyes. “You are utterly confusing,” he remarked, shaking his head. “Galahad, do you…”  
  
“Galahad!” The girl that Galahad had been kissing before was calling him, interrupting Gawain’s question. She was standing anxiously by the exit of the tavern, waving for him. Galahad exchanged a quiet look with Gawain, almost vulnerable, almost looking like he used to – an innocent child – before looking down. “Galahad, I’m waiting!”  
  
“My offer still stands,” Galahad murmured quietly, raising one eyebrow before brushing past Gawain’s shoulder and towards the girl, wrapping his arm around her hip, just like he had done with Gawain mere minutes before. They walked off, whispering and gossiping under the full moon and leaving Gawain with too much frustration at a single person.   
  
Five minutes later, Gawain did something entirely stupid. He followed Galahad and the girl back into their quarters.  
  
Gawain pushed open their door delicately; almost afraid of what was inside. And he had slight cause to be. This was going to be his Galahad sleeping with some girl while Gawain watched. The situation was less than normal. The sharp gasps of a woman were the first thing Gawain heard. The first thing he saw was Galahad slowly pushing into her, the sheets slipping past his hips and showing all.   
  
And Galahad really had grown up, from the perspective of his back, at least.   
  
“Galahad,” she gasped. “Oh, oh, Galahad!”  
  
“Yes,” Galahad replied, quiet and almost a whisper. Gawain stood, trapped in the doorway as he watched. The moonlight cast such beautiful shadows over them both as they thrust and cried out into the night, as they moved and as Galahad penetrated her. She let out a meek cry, loud and tiny all at once as she climaxed, her eyes shutting tightly.   
  
And then, Gawain heard it.  
  
“Gawain,” Galahad murmured. At first, Gawain had thought Galahad was calling out his name as he came, but his body was still as he spoke. “Gawain, I know you’re watching.”  
  
The girl purred. “Does he want to join us?”  
  
Galahad eased off and out of her, bouncing slightly as he collapsed on his back and glanced up at Gawain – and yes,  _yes_ , Galahad’s front side had done its fair share of growing and maturing too. Gawain maintained an impassive face as he merely looked at the two of them – the girl tracing patterns on Galahad’s chest and Galahad staring so intensely at Gawain.   
  
“Well?” Galahad murmured. “Do you?”  
  
“Not tonight, no,” Gawain declined politely, immediately making his way to his cot and turning away from them, simply listening to the way she giggled, to the way Galahad spoke to her softly. He merely listened to his own thoughts, clamoring to know why he hadn’t said, ‘yes, Galahad, yes.’   
  
*  
  
Hours later, Gawain felt warmth at his back, rousing him from sleep. He frowned and rubbed at his eyes, feeling groggy and confused. “Wha…” he exhaled, turning to see what was going on, but only finding Galahad pressed against him, wearing nothing but his breeches and already fast asleep, arms draped around Gawain’s hips, lips parted and murmuring tiny words that Gawain couldn’t discern.  
  
Gawain sighed and resolved not to wake Galahad up. Instead, he just fell asleep again.   
  
*  
  
Morning dawned on them with the chirping of birds and the yelling of children. Gawain woke slowly, still feeling the warmth pressed to his body, remembering that Galahad had snuck into his cot in the middle of the night. The girl was nowhere to be found and Galahad was still asleep, parted lips pressed to Gawain’s bare shoulder.   
  
“Galahad,” Gawain whispered, trying to rouse him gently. “Galahad, wake up, it’s morning.”  
  
Galahad woke slowly, burrowing closer before pulling away, groaning and yawning slightly. He opened his eyes and grinned when he saw Gawain. “Morning,” Galahad exhaled, hands not moving from Gawain’s waist. Gawain turned slightly until he was facing Galahad, close enough to be able to study Galahad better. “You’re a good pillow,” Galahad grinned happily, brushing aside a strand of hair and easing away slightly.   
  
“Where’s the girl?” Gawain asked, his voice groggy.  
  
“Gone.”  
  
“And…” Gawain frowned. “Why are you in my cot?”  
  
Galahad looked away slightly, a little ashamed. “I uh, I had a nightmare. I dreamt that the Woads killed all of you off, and I watched you die before my eyes.” He frowned. “I needed to know you were safe. I needed to have you close. I hope I didn’t overstep my bounds?”  
  
Gawain paused and sighed. “No, Galahad. It’s all right.”  
  
Galahad nodded and laid on his back in Gawain’s cot, not making any move to get up. Gawain frowned, studying Galahad and tickling at his stomach, getting Galahad to laugh – so he was still ticklish, there were still things about him that hadn’t changed. Galahad barked out his laughter, twisting under Gawain’s fingers.  
  
“Why…are you doing that!” Galahad gasped.  
  
Gawain smirked. “Just testing.” Gawain reclined, glancing over at Galahad every once in a while. “So, I never got to ask you. Why are you acting like you are?”  
  
“What do you mean?” Galahad pouted, put-upon.   
  
Gawain snorted. Galahad had a tendency to be thick at times. “You come back and from the moment you do, all you’ve done is constantly teased me with your body, with your words, with the prospect of sex with you,” Gawain continued, sighing when Galahad arranged it so his head was resting on Gawain’s bare chest. “Galahad, exactly like that! What do you think you’re doing?”  
  
Galahad shifted again, lifting his head from Gawain’s chest and climbing atop Gawain until he was straddling him. “This,” Galahad said simply, leaning down and kissing Gawain hard – lips pushed hard against Gawain’s and trying to coax them open – while one hand pushed inside Gawain’s breeches and stroked at his erection – something that had been there since waking and hadn’t disappeared.   
  
Gawain let out a moan, not wanting to. “Galahad,” he began to protest, but Galahad began to stroke faster, kiss harder. It seemed he knew what he was doing. Gawain pulled away, frowning and grasping a handful of Galahad’s hair to keep him parted, long enough for Gawain to ask, “How many times have you done this before?”  
  
“Four times with a girl,” Galahad answered, leaning down to lick up Gawain’s neck. “Once with a man. And the second time with a man will be with you.”  
  
“Galahad, wait,” Gawain snapped. “I haven’t consented.”  
  
“Yes, you did,” Galahad exhaled, stripping himself of his breeches, breathing hard. “You consented to me when you greeted me, that look on your face, your words, the way you got hard during training. You want this. I’m not some inadequate, stupid boy anymore, Gawain. I’m ready.”  
  
“Galahad,” Gawain whispered, even as Galahad stripped him of his own breeches.  
  
“I dreamed about you,” Galahad kept talking. “When I was growing up, I started having sexual dreams and they were about you. At first, I thought it was a mistake; that I just missed you, but they didn’t stop. I would dream of girls, and wenches, and whores…and…and  _you_.”  
  
Gawain bit down hard on his lip, even as Galahad maneuvered them so that Gawain was lying atop him. “Galahad,” Gawain protested, whispering. “Galahad, no,” he said sternly, easing off of Galahad, despite the way Galahad clung to his biceps fiercely. “Stop it, all right? Stop it.” He dressed quickly, grabbing the cleanest shirt he had and stepping into his breeches. “I will not be pinned down like I’m some town whore you want.”  
  
“Gawain!” Galahad protested, outraged.  
  
Gawain shook his head. “Galahad, no,” Gawain repeated, as stern as ever. “Don’t just pin me down, don’t just take advantage. You’re more mature than this. We both are. I don’t know what you did in that village, but it’s not the same here. You don’t just come back, crawl into bed with me, and try and take advantage,” he finished off with a growl, cinching his belt and storming off, not bothering to take a last look at Galahad’s face – knowing the boy would be hurt.   
  
*  
  
Percival was trying to woo some girl at the tavern that night when Gawain walked in, tired and still trying to avoid Galahad. “Someone’s angry because of you,” Lancelot commented in a sing-song voice as he entered the tavern, handing Gawain a mug of ale. Gawain frowned, knowing that Lancelot was talking about Galahad. “He nearly took off Tristan’s head during training he was so distracted.”  
  
Gawain tried to be passive, he really did. “Oh?”  
  
“Save your ‘oh’ for later when you’re in bed with him,” Lancelot said, smirking and sneering and smarmy until the end. “You will be. The boy seems so desperate, he’d bed you while you slept, just to have it.” Lancelot chuckled at his own joke, seemingly content. “Ah, but don’t listen to me.” Lancelot grinned, nodding to the entrance of the tavern. “Your own lady in waiting is here.”  
  
Gawain smacked Lancelot upside the head, which only served to make him laugh more. Gawain eased back, trying to continue his streak of passivity and ignore Galahad, but Galahad wasn’t about to let him go, not with  _that_  look on his face. In fact, Galahad stormed right up to him, pushed him down into a chair and straddled him.   
  
“What in  _hell_  are you doing?” Gawain shouted, outraged at being shoved around so. Galahad just smirked down at him, evidently taking lessons from Lancelot. Gawain squirmed and tried to get up, but Galahad merely pushed down with a little more strength. And… _oh_ , but the squirming was creating some friction. “Galahad…”  
  
“Do you think me ugly?” Galahad cut him off, expression brooking no room for argument.   
  
Gawain faltered, unsure where this was going. “No,” he weakly replied. “Of course not.”  
  
“So you think me decent,” Galahad inquired, each word razor sharp and quick as mice. Gawain felt caught in a dream moving three speeds too fast where he didn’t know the steps and he was expected to recite something in a far-off language. “Gawain!” Galahad demanded, not even two seconds later. “Answer!”  
  
“Yes!” Gawain remarked. “Of course! You’re far more than decent!”  
  
“And you’re still my best friend?”  
  
Gawain softened. He still didn’t see Galahad’s point, but his panic was quickly becoming evident. “Of course, Galahad,” Gawain said slowly and quietly, wondering who else was watching this odd show. “Of course.”  
  
Galahad contemplated this and seemingly, Gawain had given the right answers because he got up slowly, never once taking his eyes off of Gawain. Galahad just kept nodding slowly and Gawain felt like he hadn’t escaped the dream. In fact, he had only gone to a deeper level, a more confusing place with Tristan in innocent girl’s clothes and Lancelot as a chaste saint, that’s how confused he was.   
  
“Galahad…?”  
  
Galahad just smiled serenely at him. “No, you answered right, Gawain,” he said simply, standing so close that his legs touched Gawain’s knees. “You like me and you’re my friend and you think I look…‘far more than decent’,” he grinned now. “You clearly wanted me in the stables the other day because you were hard, so…” he continued to reason, a sly look on his face. “So…you’re mine.”  
  
Gawain gulped. This couldn’t be good.  
  
“I had to wear down some of those girls in that village, but you, oh,” he laughed long and hard. “Oh, Gawain, I’m going to enjoy breaking you.” He smiled angelically. “Because now I know you want me.”  
  
He walked away, wiggling his hips slightly just before he left.  
  
Gawain closed his eyes tightly. “Oh,” he exhaled. “I’m doomed.”  
  
*  
  
“Arthur,” Gawain pleaded, hands clasped together and chasing Arthur down around the fortress. “Arthur, please, I can’t do this. You have to let us change quarters. Move Tristan in with me, or put Galahad with Gaheris. Someone…somewhere…some _how_ , please,” he pleaded, his voice nearly guttural. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t sleep with his best friend, not without being haunted by guilt for years and years.   
  
Arthur seemed amused. “You were so excited too.”  
  
“And now I’m terrified,” Gawain growled. “He’s hellbent on bedding me.”  
  
Arthur laughed.  
  
“What would you understand anyhow?” Gawain sighed, descending into a chair and promptly cradling his head in his arms. “You don’t have someone looking like Galahad with Galahad’s resolve and stubbornness chasing after you with  _one_  goal in mind and  _one_  goal alone. And Arthur,” Gawain looked up. “I don’t know who he slept with out there, but he’s good at seducing me. I’ll break quickly.”  
  
Arthur clapped Gawain on the back. “I understand,” he said sympathetically, yet looking smug as he said it. “I’ve got Lancelot.”  
  
“Not funny,” Gawain snapped.  
  
Arthur just left Gawain in his miserable state. It was some time later that Gawain was able to rouse himself and trudged back to his quarters, intending to collapse and sleep the worry away and the sheer panic at the thought of taking a part of Galahad from him and turning their friendship into an irreversible new thing.   
  
He entered his room to find Galahad in his cot.   
  
Naked.  
  
Gawain swore under his breath, slamming the door behind him and getting Galahad’s attention. “ _This_  is how you wooed girls?” he questioned. “You appeared naked in their beds and trusted that their eyes found something to their happiness…”  
  
“…and then they begged me to take them?” Galahad finished. “No, this is special, for you.” He sat up slowly, beddings pooled at his hips. Gawain frowned, squinting. Those weren’t his linens. His linens were dirty and old and thin – barely a use for them. The ones piled around Galahad were new. Galahad seemed to note Gawain’s distraction. “I spoke to one of the Romans who was at the village with me. He let me take some.”  
  
Gawain let out an amused snort.  
  
“What?” Galahad rolled his eyes, even as Gawain sat down on the edge of his own cot, hand trailing the feel of the new fabric. “You don’t think I know how to converse with people?”  
  
“It’s you, Galahad,” Gawain quietly teased, a small smile on his face. “You’re half-likely to accidentally wind up fighting them.” Galahad laughed at that, leaning forward and resting his arms around his knees, so close to Gawain that he could feel Galahad’s breath on his cheek. “Galahad…”  
  
“Don’t talk,” Galahad admonished. “You talking is…not good. You say terrible things, like ‘no’.”  
  
“Galahad, in most civilized parts of the world, ‘no’ gets a man to stop,” Gawain protested tiredly, pushing Galahad down onto the bed and shifting until Gawain was lying on his back, head resting on Galahad’s chest and using it as a pillow. He sighed, staring up at the ceiling and feeling the reassuring sensation of Galahad breathing in and out, rising and falling with every second. “I don’t want to ruin us, you know?”  
  
“Hm?” Galahad murmured lazily.  
  
“Us,” Gawain reiterated. “We’re good friends. We work,” he insisted. “We laugh and we play pranks and we talk and everything worked just fine until you went away and grew up. So why do we have to change?”  
  
Galahad’s hands were busy moving to wrap around Gawain’s hips, splaying there. Gawain let out a long exhalation, shifting to get a bit more comfortable, surprised at how willing and passive Galahad was being. Gawain murmured in content as Galahad stroked slowly, pushing up his shirt and rubbing small circles with his thumbs. He turned slightly to smile lazily up at Galahad – and faintly realized he might be leading Galahad on, except, were you really leading him on when you did intend to sleep with him once you got past all the trouble? Gawain shook his head, closing his eyes.  
  
“Because it all changes,” Galahad mumbled, his voice thick. “Doesn’t matter. It changes. So why can’t we change?”  
  
“You still planning on seducing me?” Gawain teased.  
  
Galahad laughed and Gawain’s body moved with the reverberation of each throaty chuckle. “Only if you force me to that.” He sat up slowly, bringing Gawain up with him. “Gawain?” he murmured quietly, enough to make Gawain turn around, just to see what look on Galahad’s face could ever match that small tone of voice, what vulnerability could still be there when Galahad seemed so invincible. “Don’t make me do that?” he requested with a small smile. “Because I know you want me. It would be a terrible shame to waste so much energy when I know I already have you.”  
  
Gawain laughed. “You sound so very sure of yourself.”  
  
“Fine,” Galahad smirked, leaning forward until there was nothing more than a tiny gap between their lips. “Deny me,” he whispered. “Go ahead, say no. Don’t kiss me, Gawain.” Gawain closed his eyes slowly, indulging in the feeling of Galahad’s breath on him. “Don’t just…give me one kiss…”  
  
“You’re terrible,” Gawain exhaled, leaning forward swiftly and capturing Galahad’s lips in a kiss. Gawain felt Galahad’s grin against his lips before he sobered and began to kiss back, involved and moaning softly and pulling Gawain down with him, legs tangling past the new beddings and wrapping with Gawain’s. Galahad leaned forward, hands running through Gawain’s hair and pulling him closer, kissing fiercer, kissing faster, kissing Gawain like he’s water in a desert. Gawain parted slowly, the sound of lips detaching in his ears.   
  
He licked his lower lip and opened his eyes slowly. “Not bad for a second kiss,” he mumbled quietly, not letting Galahad reply, instead pinning him down with another kiss, slipping his tongue into his mouth and exploring newfound territory. Gawain closed his eyes and moaned, warmth flooding him in waves, Galahad’s hands ridding him of his shirt – disrupting the kiss to let the shirt slide past quickly – and Galahad kissing him again, bodies pressed together, rocking back, rocking forth, moving and touching and then distant. “And a third,” Gawain gasped, nipping on Galahad’s lower lip as he parted, desperate for air.  
  
“Naked,” Galahad demanded. “Undress for me. Now.”  
  
Gawain rolled his eyes, leaning back and nearly shoving his breeches off. “Demanding, aren’t you? You’re lucky that I actually fancy you.”  
  
Galahad just beamed. “I knew you did.”  
  
Gawain rolled his eyes, finally getting his boots off with a bit of clumsy trouble when Galahad seemed to want to help, then there was nothing but a simple sheet between the two of them. Gawain was so close and he could nearly sense Galahad’s anxiety. Gawain exhaled, counted --  _one, two, three, four…_  -- and then he just leaned down and kissed Galahad with clumsy, brute force, pinning him to the bed and losing himself once more. Galahad didn’t seem so inclined to speak anymore; he simply gasped, murmured, moaned.   
  
Gawain tumbled their bodies over until they were precariously on the edge of his cot as he reached under, searching for the lamp oil he kept there. Galahad bit at his jaw, tongue trailing down his neck and distracting Gawain quite well from his task.   
  
“G-Galahad, let me…” he struggled to speak, groaning and letting out a sharp cry as Galahad shifted and pushed his fingers  _into_  Gawain. He cursed. Loudly. “Galahad!” he snapped sharply. “Let me get the oil so I can bed you!” he growled, almost shouted, head tilted back and just about howling from the feeling Galahad was giving him by the way he crooked his fingers just so. He struggled to compose himself, finally grasping the small vial and righting himself, coming around to find Galahad looking at him, almost angelically. “Oh gods,” Gawain laughed breathlessly. “Look at you.”  
  
“Look at me later,” Galahad encouraged. “Bed me now.”  
  
“Tease,” Gawain accused, pushing Galahad down and pinning him there with one hand applied to the right place on his torso – and Gawain was still stronger than Galahad, he had that much going for him. Galahad spread his thighs himself, making it very easy for Gawain to simply grasp him by the calves and make sure his ankles were supported by Gawain’s shoulders. Galahad was compliant and quiet – two of the things he rarely ever was, but when he was, with his new self, he was very good-looking doing it. Gawain smiled down on him as he stroked his cock, coating it with a good layer of oil, stroking teasingly at Galahad’s opening, two fingers – and then three – slipping inside as a preview of the show. Galahad gasped and he grinned, clearly eager for Gawain to hurry it up.   
  
Gawain slowed down.  
  
“Bastard!” Galahad cried, eyes wide with indignation when Gawain pulled his fingers away and settled so that he was just barely pushing into Galahad, hands cushioned by his new linens. He whimpered. Galahad actually whimpered for him. “Please,” he pleaded. “Gawain, in me!”  
  
Gawain couldn’t argue any longer, knowing he was just teasing himself out of his breath, beads of sweat rolling down his fast with the effort to stay just in, just out of Galahad. He took a deep breath, perilously resting on the precipice of  _new things_. “Galahad,” he grunted, slipping in a little deeper and earning a sharp moan from Galahad. “Galahad, tell me I’m not just your whore for the night.”  
  
“No,” Galahad gasped out.  
  
“Good,” Gawain grinned and slid in deep, earning a long, lingering moan from Galahad. Gawain adjusted quickly, almost unable to wait any longer to want to thrust again and pick his rhythm; he quickly began to gauge how deep he could go.   
  
Galahad laughed breathlessly, sharp gasps escaping his throat. “You’re going to be my whore for years. Bed me, care for me, give me a…” he cried out sharply. “…give me your food and advice.”  
  
Gawain just muttered words under his breath, pushing faster and faster into Galahad, earning pretty little curses and moans. He closed his eyes, amazed at the heat and the way Galahad was so vocal in every movement, the way that Gawain could almost navigate his way through the act by the guide of Galahad’s voice alone. Gawain sighed, a sigh born of content, and thrust in a little slower, but going much deeper.   
  
And then he was in Galahad, eyes closed – feeling Galahad’s hand brush past his wrist to slowly stroke at his own cock in time with Gawain’s thrusts, bringing them together in just one more way. Gawain liked this, he  _liked_  the feel of Galahad’s back arching and pushing them closer together, he liked sliding in deep and claiming Galahad for his own.   
  
And he loved the way his name sounded when Galahad climaxed.   
  
Gawain’s breath was shaky and he was barely able to do more than breathe when he came, eyes closed and mind shattering into a nothingness he could never have predicted. The girl hadn’t done this to him. Neither had his fellow Knight.  
  
And he realized.  
  
“M’beautiful Sarmatian,” he whispered, pulling out of Galahad and collapsing atop him.  
  
Galahad laughed lazily, throatily. “You flatter too much.”  
  
*  
  
Gawain arose to the sound of birds awakening the world in the morning and Galahad was gone. He groaned and pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes, rubbing hard and grabbing clothes so that he would appear decent to the rest of the world. He grabbed his cloak to ward off the inevitable autumn chill and eventually found Galahad in the stables, feeding his horse. Gawain nodded, recalling. Galahad had duty this morning. Gawain grinned as he made over to Galahad’s side, laying one hand on his shoulder and getting his attention. Galahad turned, giving Gawain’s wrist the quickest of kisses. "Don't ever leave without me again, okay?" Gawain arched an eyebrow, memories of times apart and impending mornings alone in his mind.  
  
“Well,” Galahad just smirked. "You'd better give me a reason to stay."  
  
THE END


End file.
